A Niche in History
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: When Roarke gives the green light for the trial of Rogan's amakarna antidote, not even he can anticipate what awaits everyone involved. Fifth in the "Niches" story arc
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **_This time just the disclaimer...it's been too long since I included it, LOL. "Fantasy Island", Mr. Roarke, Tattoo, and Julie are the creation of Aaron Spelling, Leonard Goldberg and Gene Levitt, and the property of Sony Pictures. I realize no profit whatsoever from telling these stories, just a lot of enjoyment. On the other hand, Leslie, Christian and everybody else are my creations, so I get to do whatever I want with them [wink]. Now that that's out of the way, enjoy the latest!_

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><p>§ § § – October 19, 2008<p>

"I think you owe me an explanation, and possibly an apology," Christian told Roarke in a hard tone, facing his father-in-law across the elegant desk in the study. "You know how deeply I feel about amakarna, considering the impact it's had on my life from the time I was twenty-two years old and my father signed me into an arranged marriage behind my back in order to ensure a supply of that spice. You must have known I could feel only positively about anything that might provide an end to people's dependence on it—at least, till I learned the actual nature of the cure. Yet you chose not to tell me about it until I returned from Boston. Why?"

"For precisely this reason," Roarke replied, his voice as chilly as Christian's was angry. "You have no emotional control at all when it comes to matters concerning amakarna, and I also had reason to believe you might be unable to keep from telling at least your nieces, before we had any concrete results from the initial research. I told Leslie to fill you in when she met you at the plane dock this morning, but I see that may have been a mistake."

"One you can't undo," Christian retorted. "And I'm told that you needed human volunteers to test this potential cure on and saw to it that Leslie informed my nieces, so now Briella is coming here and it's too late to stop her. And all this _after_ I lose my Boston manager to a combination of ten years of black-lightning use and a lifetime of amakarna dependency. I was looking forward to spending a few days at home with my wife and children, and what do I find but an untested cure and the fact that one of my own nieces has decided to offer herself up despite the substantial risk of being poisoned!"

"Christian, stop it, please," Leslie wailed, still crying. She hadn't stopped since she and Christian had left the plane dock; he'd been in a black mood since learning of Gabriella's determination to be a test subject, and she was still wondering if he'd really registered the announcement she had delivered just as they were leaving. She still found it hard to believe herself; it was such an unexpected development, when she had been more than content with the three children she already had, that she had yet to reconcile her emotions.

Christian cranked around on one foot to stare at her, and she tried to reason with him through her own turmoil. "I know you're upset about Gabriella's decision, but I told you, it's hers alone to make. I had no chance to protest, either. Stop trying to pick a fight with Father, please. You looked so thrilled about the cure when I first told you..."

"That's before I learned about the risk of fatal poisoning," Christian shot back. "You must know I'm not especially happy with you either, Leslie, since you're the one who told Briella and her sisters in the first place." She turned away from him and hid her tearstained face in her hands; he whipped back around to glare at Roarke. "I want to see the exact text of the e-mail you had Leslie send out."

Without a word, Roarke arose, went to the computer and brought up Leslie's business e-mail, finding the message in question in a folder marked "Sent". Christian read it in grim silence, taking note of the fact that Leslie had pointed out the risks involved in careful detail, but hadn't specifically asked them to volunteer—in fact, had actually advised against their doing so. He grunted before asking, "What was the response?"

Roarke pulled up the reply that had come from Gabriella, and Christian read it aloud in a soft but very dark voice: _"Aunt Leslie, it hasn't taken us long to talk it over, and I insist on being one of the test subjects. Magga tried to override me, but I exerted my authority as queen, and before you can send back to me to discourage me further, I will be on a flight out of Lilla Jordsö. You should expect me to arrive on one of the Sunday charters. Gabriella." _He turned to Roarke and demanded, "Why did you tell them in the first place?"

"They had as much right to know as any other person taking amakarna," Roarke said, calm but cold. "Since you are so eager to dissuade your niece from participating in the test project, you may meet her plane, which I believe will arrive at ten this morning, and you will take her to whatever accommodations she wishes to inhabit. Until then, I suggest you return to your own home. You seem to have upset Leslie far more than would be warranted by your reaction, and I think it best if you two are apart for a while." He gestured to the door. "Go."

"I have unpacking to do in any case," Christian said, with that formal regality that Leslie very seldom heard from him except at official functions, and stalked out of the house without another word to anyone. Leslie's muffled weeping became soft sobbing as he left, and Roarke went to sit beside her on the loveseat where she had wilted, staring at her in perplexity even as he tried to comfort her.

"Leslie, my child, try not to get so upset," he urged gently. "Christian will calm down in time, and even if he doesn't, he'll be set straight by Gabriella. Why are you crying like this? Calm yourself, my child, calm yourself."

She lifted a desolate face to her father and croaked, "I wasn't going to say anything till I told Christian first. Well, I did, and I don't think he even noticed, but at least I tried to tell him. Father...I'm pregnant."

Roarke blinked once in surprise, then smiled broadly and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, squeezing. "That's very happy news, Leslie!" He chuckled. "It also explains a great deal...your lingering illness, your unusual fretfulness during Christian's absence." She had started crying into her hands again, and his smile faded. "Don't you want this baby?"

"I'm still trying to get used to the idea," Leslie admitted, attempting to control her tears. "I honestly never thought I'd have another child, especially at age 43. I'll probably be 44 by the time I give birth. Dr. Lambert thinks I conceived in August. Anyway, she sent me to Dr. Hannaford, and she confirmed it." She shuddered slightly.

"What frightens you about this pregnancy?" Roarke asked.

Her gaze was sheepish. "That I might end up with multiples again."

Roarke laughed and squeezed her again. "Unless you and Christian had agreed that you should try fertility drugs, I strongly suspect you won't. Of course, you can see to it that Dr. Hannaford examines you very carefully to be certain, but I think you worry far too much about a relatively minor issue. If you are not due till next May, then you should set this aside for the moment, for we have more immediate things to take care of."

Three of those "immediate things" came downstairs just then, all looking a little scared. "Mommy?" Susanna ventured, and Roarke and Leslie both turned to see the triplets come off the last step and approach them.

"Mommy, did Daddy make you cry?" Tobias asked, eyes wide.

Leslie cleared her throat, but Roarke took over and lifted his grandson into his lap. "There are a lot of things your father has to think about," he said, "and he's very worried and upset about them. That's why I sent him home, to your house, so that he can be alone for a while and calm down. When he sees you three, he'll be very glad."

"Will he be glad to see Mommy too?" Karina wanted to know.

"I'm sure he will, sweetheart," Roarke said reassuringly. "Now tell me, are you three hungry? Mariki is waiting to serve breakfast."

"But I want to hug Mommy," Tobias insisted, and before either of the adults could react, he squirmed out of Roarke's lap and into Leslie's, wrapping his arms around his mother's waist and squeezing till she squawked softly. "I love you, Mommy," the little boy said, matching Roarke's reassuring tone. "I'll never make you cry, I promise."

"I love you too, son," Leslie murmured, hugging him back and kissing the top of his head. She managed a smile for the girls, who were staring on anxiously. "And I love both of you too. It's going to be okay, so don't worry."

"But if it's okay, why were you crying?" Susanna persisted.

Leslie tossed Roarke a resigned glance, and he grinned at her. "Well, sweetie, Daddy and Grandfather know now, so it's your turn to know." She waited till Tobias was looking up at her, then tried to take in all three triplets at once. "In spring, you're going to have a new brother or sister. I'm having a baby."

"A baby?" blurted Susanna, almost simultaneously with Karina's "A real one?" Leslie nodded, another smile breaking forth as the girls gaped at each other in wonder.

"I hope I get a brother," Tobias announced. "We got enough girls already!"

Roarke and Leslie both laughed, and they arose, Leslie setting her son back on his feet. "No matter what I get, we'll all love the new baby. It's going to be a long time before we find out if it's a boy or a girl, so let's just go have breakfast and talk about other things."

§ § §

It was roughly a quarter past ten and Leslie was in the study alone while Roarke tended to one of the fantasies. Noelle, now fully over her case of stomach flu, was sitting for the triplets that weekend, and with Leslie's permission had taken them to the beach most frequented by resort guests; Mariki had been in about half an hour before to leave Leslie a carafe of mango juice and a glass, so things were quiet now as she paid some bills and scheduled fantasy requests that Roarke had accepted. She was entering another expense in the ledger when she heard the slam of car doors in the lane and voices carrying on about something, at considerable volume. She glanced at the grandfather clock, wondering idly what was going on.

The voices got louder; then doors opened, and Queen Gabriella of Lilla Jordsö stalked into the inner foyer, closely followed by her uncle. "You have no right to stop me, Uncle Christian," Gabriella informed him in her most regal tones. "I'm the queen, and what I say goes—so there's nothing you can do about it." She was speaking in _jordiska_, but Leslie could understand her nevertheless, thanks to Christian's periodic lessons and the family's regular use of the language at home.

"You're Arnulf's daughter all right," Christian commented sourly, in the same tongue. "He always had that exact same attitude. You can't tell me the risk doesn't frighten you. You were very well warned, so you can't claim ignorance."

"No, and I don't intend to," Gabriella snapped. "You're still a prince of our realm, and since I'm the ruling monarch, you'd best take heed and give way when I tell you that my mind is made up once and for all, and nothing you can say will stop me!" She glared at him till she seemed satisfied that he'd gotten the message; then, leaving him standing in the foyer shaking his head to himself, she stepped down into the study while Leslie arose from the desk and curtsied to her.

"Aunt Leslie!" Gabriella exclaimed, switching to English, her voice bright and warm as she met Leslie in front of the desk and returned her hug. "It's really good to see you!"

"Good to see you too, of course," Leslie said, feeling better for Gabriella's warmth. "So did you just get in? Where do you plan to stay?"

"With you and Uncle Christian, of course," Gabriella said, grinning. "That way I can play with my cousins and get to know them better." She tipped her head and studied her aunt curiously. "Is something wrong? You look...I don't know, troubled."

"Oh, things've been going on," Leslie murmured vaguely, too timid to dare a glance in Christian's direction. "I don't know how much Christian's told you, but we've had quite an eventful five weeks or so around here. And I have a feeling it's just going to get more eventful." She heard Christian snort quietly and knew she was employing euphemisms, but she didn't know how much Gabriella knew about their situation.

"Well, I think it's more than 'eventful'," the thirty-four-year-old queen observed with a wry look toward the foyer. "To hear Uncle Christian talk, I'm sentencing myself to certain death because I volunteered for the trial of this amakarna cure." She peered curiously at Leslie. "How much do you know about it? Do you think it will cure my infertility as well as my need for amakarna?"

"I honestly can't tell you," Leslie said, shrugging. "I do know that we figured out that amakarna always affects the cardiovascular system in men and the reproductive system in women, and specifically targets men's hearts and women's ovaries."

Gabriella flattened both hands on her abdomen and peered down at them as though she could see her own insides by so doing; then she looked up at Leslie again. "When my sisters and I found out we were sterile," she said slowly as Christian stepped ignored into the room and settled on the loveseat to watch them grimly, "the doctor who examined us said that the spice must have somehow worked its way into our very DNA and changed its structure so that we were genetically unable to have children. What was said about that?"

"I'm no physician," Leslie said through a sigh, gesturing the queen to a chair. "But I remember thinking that sounded like a complete crock when I heard it. I didn't say anything at the time, because as I said, I'm not medically trained; and besides, it's amakarna—who knows what's possible with the stuff? But it never really seemed right. Rogan hasn't said a single word about DNA, and while this is only my uninformed opinion, I don't think even amakarna can do that much damage or effect that kind of change." She paused, thinking. "That said, I don't know whether the cure will restore your ability to have a baby. The cure contains a combination of earth herbs that are supposed to be beneficial to the system in question—actually there are two cures, according to what Rogan told us the day he had Marina take her three doses. One for men and one for women, because of the different systems affected. I wouldn't go so far as to suggest they'll reverse the effects of the spice over a lifetime, but it can't hurt to have them in there, just for their beneficial qualities."

Gabriella nodded. "I see. Well, I kept it a secret, as you said. I told Daniel I might as well take time off, since parliament has gone on its eleventh annual _nationaldagslöv_ and I have until the end of the first week of November." She saw Leslie's blank look and laughed. "Lilla Jordsö's national day is October 4, and back in about 1998 it was decided that parliament should get the month off for that reason."

"Who decided that?" Leslie asked, amused.

"Parliament, of course," Gabriella said with a grin, "who else? Anyway, it was the perfect time for me to decide to take advantage of that inactivity and present myself for this trial. Magga wanted to be the one to do it, but she actually has less free time than I do, since she has so many charities to represent. And Stina was too afraid of the risk."

"The sensible one," said Christian sharply from the loveseat.

"As you can see," Gabriella sighed, "Uncle Christian is very angry with me for doing this. But who am I to sit back and let others take a risk just because I'm the queen? If something does happen to me, I've already made provisions for the situation; I saw to it years ago. I just don't think it right to be held above others in something like this, merely because I happen to be the ruler of a country."

"Goodness," murmured Leslie uneasily.

Gabriella smiled. "We'll see, I don't doubt. If I do perish of this, then Uncle Carl Johan will make a fine interim king, I'm sure. And if not, then I'll feel as if I've really earned the right to be called a queen, having taken part in something beneficial."

"So that's how you justify it," Christian said, his voice bitter. "I'll go on record as saying that I object strenuously to this entire thing..."

Leslie lost her temper at last. "Dammit, Christian, we already know all about it," she barked at him. "If all you can do is repeat your disapproval over and over again, then why don't you get out of here and go fix some computers or take a run on that beach of yours? You haven't even mentioned my other news, and now I'm not sure you actually heard me when I told you. Until you can accept that you don't run your niece's life, or anyone else's but your own, you can take yourself elsewhere!" Her voice wobbled as she ended her diatribe, much to her disgust, and before she could stop herself she was crying again.

Christian stared at her, while Gabriella reached out and grasped Leslie's hands in hers. _"Herregud,_ Aunt Leslie, what's wrong? What other news do you mean?"

"It's my damn hormones," Leslie complained, hitching a shoulder high enough to clear tears out of at least one eye. "I've been losing it all month for one reason or another—first my lunch all the time, now my emotional control. I told your uncle when he first landed here this morning—blurted it right out, point-blank—but he was so worked up over the amakarna cure, he never quite acknowledged it." She shrugged and tried to smile. "Of course, I was bawling like a three-year-old when I said it, so maybe he didn't understand me."

Christian had been sitting there with his face screwed up in bewilderment as she spoke; now, when Gabriella laughed at her quip, he arose and approached her, peering at her as she pulled her hands free and brushed at her eyes. "Leslie," he said, his voice much more gentle, "if you had something important to tell me and I somehow missed it, I apologize." He took her hand in his turn and urged her to her feet, loosely grasping her upper arms and studying her while Gabriella looked eagerly on. "What did you tell me, back at the plane dock, that I apparently missed?"

She blinked another tear out of her eye. "Well...I'm pregnant. We're going to have a baby probably around May sometime."

Christian's eyes flew wide open and he breathed, barely audible, "Oh..." When she nodded, he swallowed hard, then hugged her even harder. "My Rose, my Rose...I'm so sorry. I truly am. Please forgive me."

"Uncle Christian, are you crazy?" Gabriella shouted in disbelief.

Startled, both Leslie and Christian stared at her; then Christian realized what she was talking about and burst out laughing. "Briella, I'm not apologizing for making Leslie pregnant, for fate's sake! I'm apologizing for my horrid behavior." Leaving his niece to grin sheepishly at them, he turned to Leslie and softly kissed her. "No wonder you're so weepy! I was so caught up in your other news, somehow your bald announcement at the plane dock completely escaped me. I'm so sorry. Is this the reason you haven't fully recovered from your stomach flu, then?"

"That's what Dr. Lambert thought when Father made me go see her, yes," Leslie said with a nod. "She did tell me to come back in a month if I wasn't feeling any better, but she also firmly sent me over to Dr. Hannaford, who confirmed the pregnancy and put me back on those liquid prenatal vitamins I took when I was expecting the triplets. And Father tried to reassure me that I'm not likely to be getting multiples this time around."

Christian laughed again. "It'll be interesting to find out what it's like to have just one baby to care for. It may seem like a vacation compared to what we went through with the triplets. Speaking of whom—do they know?"

She nodded. "I told them right after I told Father. It took me a while to get used to the idea of being pregnant, after figuring it'd never happen again once we got the triplets, so it was easy for me not to say anything. But I justified it anyway by reasoning that you, as the baby's father, should be the first one to know."

"Well, I _almost_ was, no thanks to my tunnel vision," Christian commented with self-deprecating wryness. He considered it for a moment and shook his head. "I'm happy to hear about this, naturally...but at the same time I find myself a little stunned. A new father at 50? I realize it's not unprecedented, but being in that position yourself gives you an entirely different outlook on the concept. It'll be an experience, to be sure." He chuckled at himself and hugged her again. "How do you feel now?"

"About the same," she said candidly, and this time Gabriella laughed along with Christian. She grinned back. "But with you home, my love, I think it'll be better from now on." She checked the time again. "Father should be back within an hour, and then either you can ask him any questions you might have, Briella, or Christian can take you to our house and you can settle into the guest suite and rest awhile."

"I'll wait for Mr. Roarke," Gabriella decided. She resumed her chair, and Leslie went to the kitchen to cadge a few refreshments out of Mariki while Christian decided it might not be a bad idea to have a run.

"You all right?" Leslie asked, knowing he tended to run only when he was troubled.

He smiled at her. "Don't worry, my Rose. It's simply a way to burn off the anxieties and anger and shock I've been feeling lately. If I'm not back by lunchtime, call my mobile and I promise I'll let you know what's happening."

"Okay," she murmured. He dropped a kiss on her lips, winked at her, then left the house; and she settled behind Roarke's desk to resume the chores she had been handling.

Gabriella arose to pour herself some of the tea Mariki had brought out; she was still stirring the hot liquid when Roarke returned, and looked up eagerly. "Hello, Mr. Roarke!"

"Your Majesty," Roarke responded warmly, with a bow. "Welcome to Fantasy Island. I presume you've been waiting to speak with me?"

"I have. Leslie was kind enough to answer what questions she could, but she thinks you may have more information for me. I know she outlined the dangers of the cure in her message and even insisted we shouldn't volunteer, and Uncle Christian has been yelling at me about it nearly since I arrived, but I'm determined to do this..." Leslie, who had a few errands that needed doing, left Gabriella to her chat with Roarke, and took care of the few small things quickly before following an instinct and parking the car near the entrance to the beach where Christian normally ran.

She took off her shoes and rolled up the white pants she wore during weekends, then struck out across the sand. The day was somewhat overcast, so there was no one else at all on the beach at the moment, even once she passed the first section that was so cluttered with marine debris, climbed over the spit of palm-studded land that split the strand in two, and came out onto the more sheltered stretch of sand. Here, pausing, she could see a figure at the far end, just turning and making its way back in her direction. She settled her stance and waited patiently, watching Christian's gradual approach. It took him a while, telling her he'd probably been running hard for quite some time and was winding down. His head had drooped, another sign of energy depletion, so he didn't see her till he was just a few yards away and she called his name.

He stumbled to a halt and looked up, panting so hard he was wheezing slightly. He smiled, but didn't have enough breath to speak, so just stood gasping. She crossed the remaining distance between them, taking in his exhausted condition, the sweaty sheen that coated his skin, the way his T-shirt and shorts stuck to his wet body. His hair hung in damp spikes, and as she watched, sweat drops rolled down the sides of his face; one even dripped off the end of his nose. "Maybe you need to wade a little," she offered.

"I'll...take...a...plunge," he managed, and she nodded, watching him push his depleted body into the gentle surf and submerge himself, even his head. She didn't realize how hard he must have pushed himself till he had to literally crawl out of the water on his hands and knees, at first constantly twisting his head to one side or the other in order to breathe till he got into shallow-enough water to lessen the risk of drowning. Once he was back on the sand and she had helped him up, he just stood with head hanging, still breathing hard.

After a few minutes he said, "Well, I think I feel better now. Mostly." He looked up with an apologetic smile. "I'm still badly bothered about Briella's decision, but both you and she are right: there's nothing I can do about it, and it's entirely up to her. All I can do is stand by and watch, like some damned helpless spectator."

Leslie smiled sympathetically. "Christian, my love, don't ever think I'm not worried myself. But Father said that she and her sisters had as much right to know about the possible cure as any other person on amakarna, royalty or not."

"My Rose," he admonished, "I should think you'd know me better than that, after the twelve years we've been together. My objections have nothing to do with her being royalty and supposedly indispensable to the _jordiska_ people. They're because she's my niece and part of my family. I would object to any of my family stepping forward for this trial run." He considered. "Well, except perhaps Arnulf, if he were still alive."

Leslie snickered. "I stand corrected," she said dryly, and he grinned. "I don't have too much to do right now, and there's still another forty minutes till lunch. Maybe we should head for home so you can clean up and change clothes."

He smiled at that and suggested softly, "Perhaps that's not all, hm?" She giggled, gave him a playfully noisy kiss on the lips, and took his hand, towing him along with her to the car. When he got suggestive, she knew things would be all right.


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § – October 22, 2008

The other five test volunteers arrived throughout the next three days, so that by Wednesday all six—three men and three women—were ready to begin the trial. They came from around the world: Gabriella, of course; an Australian; a Swiss; a Greek; an American; and a Dutchwoman. Each had a small jar of amakarna, which Rogan examined; it happened that only Gabriella got her spice supply from him. Marina recognized the rest as coming from her father's greenhouse.

"So what's the word, then, on the antidote, where Marina is concerned?" Christian asked. They had all met in Roarke's study; Christian and Marina had greeted each other civilly, if a little distantly, and Christian made a point of staying close at Leslie's side.

"The cutoff date is fifteen days from the time the third and final dose is taken," explained Roarke. "Thus far, Marina is seven days into her trial. What have you observed?"

"I'm fine," Marina said with a wide smile. "I've had no ill effects, and I haven't needed the spice since I took the cure." She looked around the group, all of whom were watching her closely, before her gaze landed on Roarke. "I've always taken amakarna with my breakfast eggs. In just two days I've learned the true flavor of eggs, and I had no idea they tasted so good." Everyone laughed at that, even Christian.

"She's been under the close watch of two doctors at the hospital," Rogan added, "and every day she has a little blood sample taken and tested. There's no loss of essential blood nutrients; everything's as it should be. So this is looking more promising all the time."

Roarke nodded. "Very encouraging." He took in the volunteers. "It was explained to you all that there are distinct and very real dangers involved in being a test subject for this cure. After experimenting with several different substances for combating the addictive property of the spice—including jimsonweed and even belladonna—Rogan has decided the best bet is thornapple. I must emphasize, at the risk of repeating myself, that thornapple is both hallucinogenic and poisonous, and Rogan found it necessary to add slightly more than what would be considered safe for humans before he deemed the antidote capable of doing its work. Miss LiSciola seems to be responding favorably; but she is a clan member, and as such has a somewhat different physiognomy from earth humans. I don't expect you to grasp this fully; I merely wish to reiterate the risk you're all taking. If you are particularly sensitive to toxic substances, you may prefer to back out now, as your risk will surely be higher and may pose a larger threat than you are willing to take on. If so, you need only say so and you may leave without prejudice. But even those of you who are not so sensitive will quite likely find yourselves affected by the hallucinogenic qualities of the thornapple solution in the cure. If this also disturbs you, once again, you may drop out without prejudice."

The Australian, a man who looked to be a few years older than Leslie, spoke up. "Pardon me, Mr. Roarke, but you should know something. I've had to take this bloody stuff every single day ever since my parents put me on it as an infant. I'm frankly sick of it. It costs more than I like paying, and it seems the price goes up a little more every year or so. But alongside that, I feel like I'm dependent on some illicit drug, and I want to be able to get through life without having to shake that stuff all over my food. It ruins the taste of the meal, and after what I've heard about the way men on amakarna die..." He shook his head. "Well, let's just say you can't scare me off this cure, if there's even the smallest chance I can quit amakarna forever."

"I'm with him," said the American woman, and the others nodded firmly.

"You already know how I feel, Mr. Roarke," Gabriella said quietly, "and so do Uncle Christian and Aunt Leslie. The spice has cost me more than I realized mattered to me until I lost a husband because of its effect on me."

"Briella, Leslie told you—" Christian began.

"Yes, she did, and I didn't forget," Gabriella replied evenly. "But even if this cure doesn't reverse the damage the amakarna's done, at least I might have the comfort of knowing I'll never need the spice again."

"Very well," Roarke said. "Then, Rogan, I leave it to you."

Rogan cleared his throat as all eyes went to him. "I'm going to give you each three doses of the cure, through the course of one day. It's a bit late today, so that'll be tomorrow; that way all of you are on the same schedule for the trial period." Everyone nodded. "A dose is a full hundred and fifty milliliters—and taking all three, or half a liter, at once would be a bit much...atop which, the stuff doesn't exactly taste like a margarita." There was some low laughter; Christian raised a brow and peered at Rogan, who grinned a little. "So you'll each be given a dose with each of your meals tomorrow. Any other questions?" Nobody spoke, so he nodded. "In that case, we all meet tomorrow morning at eight, at my greenhouse."

The group scattered, most to the hotel where they were staying, but Gabriella with Christian and Leslie to their own home. "You can't tell me you're not even just a little afraid of what that cure might do to you," Christian said to his niece at last, as if he couldn't quite let the subject drop.

Gabriella peered at him in the rearview mirror. "I never claimed not to be afraid," she told him, and Leslie smiled at that. "But I want to be free of amakarna enough to try this. It's taken enough from me. Now I want to fight back."

Christian nodded. "Yes, I think I understand. It's taken enough from me as well, and I was never even on it." He glanced at Leslie, answering her smile with his own.

"But you've been able to get what you truly wanted, even if it took you years to do it," Gabriella pointed out. "Maybe I never will, but to be free of the spice would be enough." She studied her aunt and uncle for a moment or two, then spoke again, her tone lighter. "So tell me, how and when are you going to tell our people that you're expecting again?"

"I'll be damned if we call a press conference," snorted Christian.

Leslie let out a laugh. "We don't need a press conference. We can just call Myeko and she can scoop the entire world. She'll love that."

"The _Chronicle_ just might hand her another raise," agreed Christian, grinning. "I must admit, I had forgotten about Myeko. She must have had indescribable fun selling her story about us when we were first married."

"I'm sure she and Nick could use a raise. They've been remodeling that farmhouse he inherited from his aunt just about ever since they moved into it together," Leslie commented. "She mentioned once that it always seems as if something else needs updating or fixing."

"Should I put it on the website as well, or wait till Myeko's had her chance to milk the story for whatever she can get from it?" Christian kidded.

"Oh, you and your suspicions of reporters," Leslie retorted, laughing and giving him a light whack in the upper arm. "When we get home, I'll give her a call and have her come over. I probably ought to tell the other girls too. It wouldn't be fair to tell only Myeko."

"Do you want a boy or a girl?" Gabriella asked.

"I don't really care," Leslie said, shrugging. "Of course, Tobias is hoping we have a boy and Karina and Susanna want a baby sister, but that's how most kids are."

Christian chuckled. "True. I don't care what we get, either. It does occur to me, however, that by the time this child is born, Ingrid may well have left us. The triplets have never known a house without her, and I wonder how much chaos we're letting ourselves in for."

"She still plans to go home, then?" queried Gabriella.

"Exactly so. Apparently she has a young man back in Lilla Jordsö, and it's time we let her get on with her own life anyway. There's no reason to assume Leslie will have more than one baby this time around, and we have three little helpers who will be nearly five by the time they become older siblings. Ingrid should be able to leave with a clear conscience; and we can put the baby in the room she uses now."

"If you do have a boy, that means both your sons will have their own rooms while your daughters are sharing," Gabriella pointed out. "Susanna and Karina might have a few words about that, if they figure it out too."

"Well, we certainly aren't going to move someone into the guest suite," Christian remarked, rolling his eyes. "I daresay we can wait for a good while before we have to really think about that. I do want to let the family in on it before we tell the rest of the world, so my Rose, if you can wait to release this to Myeko, I'd be grateful."

"Well, of course the relatives in Lilla Jordsö should know," Leslie said, patting his thigh. "It wouldn't be fair of us not to tell them first. Just don't gloat over having found out about it before anybody else back there did, Briella." She cast the young queen a teasing look, and Gabriella laughed.

It was a special enough occasion to warrant Christian's making a phone call to the royal castle, and when he'd informed the rest of his family there, he gave Leslie the phone and she revealed it to Myeko. "Holy flying coconuts!" Myeko burst out. Leslie knew she was at her desk at the newspaper, and had to grin. _"You?_ Seriously?"

"Seriously," Leslie assured her. "I'm supposed to be due sometime in May, but even Dr. Hannaford isn't sure of the precise date, probably because I can't really remember the last day I had a period. I just knew it was in the summer and that was it. Anyway, while you're working up a big fat scoop, that should give me enough time to tell the other girls, so you won't have to feel as if they learned it through the paper like the riffraff."

"I can't wait to hear what Tabitha has to say," Myeko remarked, snickering. "After all her moaning and groaning about being pregnant...now she has company, so she better shut up once and for all."

Tabitha was astonished. "Are you really pregnant? You must have been shocked, since you and Christian never planned for any more after the triplets."

"Shock is a good word for it," Leslie agreed. "But just think, now you have somebody to be pregnant with. And whatever happens, this really will be the last one."

"Sure it will," said Camille through a laugh when Leslie told her the same thing. "Then this one'll turn two or three and you'll discover you're expecting yet again. Beware of famous last words—that's one of my mother's favorite sayings, you know."

"Bite your tongue," Leslie shot back with overdone affrontery. "This is really one too many as it is, but since it's on the way, we'll readjust. But we'll see to it that it's not famous last words at all."

Christian and Leslie then told Ingrid, whose face went slack with amazement before guilt and resignation crept into her eyes. In quiet _jordiska_ she told them, "I will stay, Your Highnesses. You'll need extra help when the baby is born."

"Ingrid," Christian said gently, "listen to me. It's entirely your decision to stay or go, but you should never feel obligated merely because you think we'll have trouble handling our own children without assistance. You're not so far from your thirtieth birthday now, and it's past time you were allowed your own life. Your fiancé may not have the patience to wait for you forever, in any case. We told you because eventually you'll see the physical evidence of Leslie's pregnancy, and we didn't want you wondering needlessly. There's no reason to believe we'll have more than one infant this time around."

Leslie spoke in slow but correct _jordiska_ to Ingrid. "You can leave when you plan to leave, and you need have no fears or guilt about it. It's your turn to have your own children." She smiled, and at last Ingrid smiled back, relief on her face.

"I'm still going to miss her, though," Leslie admitted that night, long after bedtime when she and Christian lay awake, for different reasons. "The triplets seem to think of her as a third parent. I just hope that they'll feel ready to grow up a little by the time she leaves us. I'd hate to find out I have a real infant and three aspiring ones."

Christian laughed a little, but it had an absentminded quality to it, and she rolled her head on her pillow to eye him in the starglow filtering through the skylight over their bed. "My love?" she questioned softly.

"It's months yet before Ingrid leaves," he murmured, gazing into the square of outer space that showed through the skylight. "That isn't what I'm worried about. If something happens in that trial...especially to Briella...I just don't know. I have very strong misgivings about all this. Why did it have to be a poisonous substance that Rogan had to use?"

Leslie was silent, sensing the rhetorical nature of the question; after a moment, he sighed and rolled over to face her. "I'm sorry, my Leslie Rose. I never should have taken out my frustrations over amakarna on you. Rogan and Marina are the ones responsible, and they did need volunteers for the trial. I just wish my niece hadn't rushed in with a misguided ambition to heroism, that's all."

"I think she just wanted to be free of the spice, like she told us earlier today," Leslie said reflectively, cuddling against him and kissing his chest. "There's really nothing else we can do but stand by and wait, and have Rogan and Marina and Father monitor the people in the trial, and hope for the best."

"If only I weren't so certain that someone's going to die," Christian said, voice so soft and muffled that she almost didn't hear him. "I can only hope I'm thoroughly wrong, that my gut instincts will fail me this time."

Leslie scowled unseen at his chest, wishing he would stop fearing and assuming the worst, but pretty sure that nothing she could say would change his mind. She let out a sigh, murmured, "Good night," and closed her eyes, though she knew she wouldn't sleep for some time to come. _Rogan, you and Marina had better be right..._

"Leslie?" Christian said questioningly, sounding puzzled.

"Just once, I wish you'd have a little faith, Christian," she said softly. "Just once."

He made a noise low in his throat and wrapped an arm around her. "I know you're probably exasperated with me, but consider the reason. Too much has happened that in-volves that spice, and the last occurrence only a week ago. It's all but impossible for me to have any faith where amakarna is concerned. Briella seems to think even the risk of death is worth freeing herself of the need for it..." He let loose a long sigh and flopped over onto his back, again gazing through the skylight. "Perhaps it's only the uninformed, merely earth-human prince talking here, but the method seems highly suspect to me."

"In that case, my suggestion is that you discuss it with Father," Leslie said, smoothing the skin on his chest. "You'd accept his explanations, wouldn't you?"

"I'm actually surprised that he's going along with this. I took him to be a far wiser and more cautious sort, and yet he clearly has no objections to the speed and limited scope of this trial. It's as well all of you kept it under wraps; the scientific and medical worlds would be in a massive uproar for untold ages should it become public. And I suspect that at some point, someone's going to talk about it. It doesn't matter what you threaten in the quest to keep something a closely guarded secret; the more people who know about it, the greater the likelihood that someone will tell anyway."

She realized then that Christian wasn't in the mood to be convinced, and gave up, rolling over onto her other side and sliding a protective hand over her abdomen. She stared unseeingly into the dimness, for the first time letting herself wonder whether Christian might just be right. There was nothing for it but to wait and see, but she felt twinges of unease and scowled in self-disgust. It seemed he'd infected her with his nervousness after all. It was an effort for her to push the whole subject from her mind and try to think about the tiny new life growing deep inside her. _Names,_ she thought with the slightest of smiles, _that's one thing you can think about. Names. I wonder if we're going to have as much trouble naming this one as we did the triplets..._

The bed jostled and she felt Christian curl his body around hers, slowly sliding an arm over her own and rubbing her hand with his fingertips. "I'll have a talk with Mr. Roarke tomorrow, my Rose, I promise," he said softly. "Tell me what you're thinking."

"About the baby," she murmured.

"Are you still ambivalent about it?" he queried.

"A little bit, but I'm getting used to it. Of course, it's early. Wait till I get big and bloated, and my ankles are wider than my thighs, and I set up a tent in the bathroom, and I feel the baby kicking everything between my lungs and my kidneys. I guess everybody better just get out of my way then, because I'll be impossible to live with."

Christian's silent chuckling buffeted her back and she couldn't help smiling, for it was reassuring. "Oh, my Rose, you're priceless. Fortunately for you, there's still time to get used to this before you really begin to suffer. And incidentally, this time I think we'd better begin discussing names very early on. If what we went through with the triplets is any indicator, we might be able to settle on a boy's name and a girl's name to choose from just about the time the baby is born, as long as we start first thing in the morning."

To her own surprise, Leslie burst out laughing and had to slap a hand over her mouth to keep from waking up everyone else in the house; Christian's chortling became audible, and they snuggled together, finally relaxing. They fell asleep with Christian tucking his body around Leslie's, his fingers intertwined with hers across her stomach, as though both parents were protecting the child they had recently created.


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § – October 23, 2008

It was a tense group who gathered in the greenhouse that Thursday morning; by eight everyone was there, along with Roarke, Christian and Leslie, and a doctor from the hospital who had been working with Rogan on the exact amounts of thornapple alkaloid to add to the two versions of the potential cure. Christian had had that promised talk with Roarke, who had called upon the doctor to support his explanations; they had advised the suspicious prince that, because of the nature of the spice and what was needed to counteract it, all the usual rules had to be broken, especially in the face of the need for secrecy.

Satisfied to whatever extent possible, Christian was now watching the group with sharp eyes, leaning against a workbench stacked with bags of potting soil, green plastic jugs of fertilizer of all kinds, dozens of seed packets, about thirty ornate crystal kitchen spice jars, and a couple of gaily painted aluminum watering cans. Rogan was handing a small capped vial to each of the six human participants while Roarke and the doctor made sure he was giving the correct version of the cure to each person and Leslie hovered alongside her father, fidgeting with a packet of tomato seeds. She could see her husband at the extreme edge of her peripheral vision, and was aware of his restless shifting when Gabriella received her vial. She met the young queen's gaze, and Gabriella smiled serenely. _At least someone around here has confidence,_ Leslie reflected, wishing it would rub off on Christian.

"All right then," Rogan said, "I think it's best if this is as coordinated as possible, so let's all go to the kitchen in the B&B. Julie has some breakfast for us there."

"Where's Marina?" Leslie asked, suddenly realizing who was missing.

"Sleeping in. She's still waiting out the trial period," Rogan told her. "Are you and Christian joining us for breakfast?"

"We may as well," Christian said, the first thing he'd said since they had arrived at the greenhouse. "Though my appetite is oddly stunted today." He gave Gabriella a sidelong look as he said this. Gabriella just rolled her eyes, and Leslie grinned, falling into step beside her husband as the entire group filed out of the greenhouse and headed for the back door to the B&B, which led directly into the kitchen.

Julie greeted them all and bustled around the table serving scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, and toast, along with butter, jam and jelly, and coffee or orange juice according to preference. The table was a bit crowded, but Rogan ate standing up, and Roarke had declined breakfast altogether, having eaten at the main house. The doctor, too, had refused anything, but remained in the kitchen with Roarke, talking in low tones while the others had their repast. Leslie managed to be surreptitious about taking her daily dose of prenatal vitamins with her food, but she still had the feeling that someone was going to ask about it, and she didn't want a big fuss over her new pregnancy when it wasn't her place.

Rogan gulped down a final bite of toast and approached the table. "All right, everyone, before you finish the last of your food, this is a good time to take your first dose—now while you have something in your stomachs, but before you've eaten everything. That's how you should take the other two doses as well: eat the better part of your meal, but don't eat all of it before you take it. Go ahead and do that now."

Gabriella and her five fellow "guinea pigs" nodded, then glanced at one another with a mix of nerves and hope as they each opened their vials. The Dutchwoman asked, "Should we mix it with something to drink, or simply take it straight from this?" She raised her vial as she uttered the final phrase.

"Just take it straight from the vial," Rogan said. "Try to gulp it all down in one or two swallows if you can—the taste isn't the best, but I'm afraid there was nothing I could do about it. And I did try." His apologetic grin got some low laughter before the trial subjects lifted their vials, toasted one another with a collective gesture, and then belted back their first doses. Grimaces went all the way around the table, and this time everyone laughed, even Christian despite his grim mood. Rogan chuckled. "That's why I told you to leave some of your meal—that way you can get rid of the taste." Once more there was laughter, and that seemed to release some of the tension; conversation arose at last, where up to that point the meal had been mostly silent.

"We'll meet here for lunch," Rogan said about fifteen minutes later when everyone had had his or her fill and were getting acquainted with one another. "Julie here has agreed to provide today's meals, so that we can keep this under wraps and not have strangers askin' what we're doing. Meet here at noon."

The kitchen slowly emptied; the doctor returned to the hospital, and the other five trial participants departed for other pursuits. Julie left to start her usual housekeeping duties, and Roarke regarded Christian, Leslie and Gabriella. "Have you three planned anything for the day?" he inquired.

"Nothing really," said Leslie, surprised. "Christian thought he'd spend the day at his office and check up on things at his other branches. Why?"

Roarke glanced between them and cleared his throat. "I didn't want to alarm anyone, but Rogan was incorrect about Marina. She's not 'sleeping in', as he told you. She has gone missing. One of my staff found young Lucan alone in the cottage where they are staying."

The Enstads looked at one another. "Where is he now?" Leslie asked.

"Julie is caring for him here," Roarke said. "It seems he and Rory have become play-mates. I have the island constables on alert, but without some manner of clue as to the nature of Marina's disappearance, there's little I can do."

"Does Rogan know she's gone?" Christian asked.

"No, he isn't yet aware. Leslie, if you are feeling up to the task, perhaps you could assist me in a low-key search for Marina."

"I'll help," Gabriella volunteered. "I have no other plans."

Christian shoved his hands into his pockets, looking slightly uncomfortable. "I'd volunteer as well, but..." he began, his face a bit ruddy.

"No, that's all right, Christian," said Roarke. "I believe it would be best not to have too many people trying to pick up Marina's trail, if there is one. Go ahead and carry out your intended plans. I'm sure Leslie and Her Majesty will do their very best."

"We'll keep you informed, Father," Leslie promised and turned to her niece by marriage. "Well, are you ready?"

The two women began at what had once been Tattoo's cottage; it was nestled in a grove of trees within sight of the guest bungalows, but had plenty of tall flowering bushes that served as natural screening. It was the first time Leslie had been inside it for many years, and she thought memories would assault her as she let herself in with the master key Roarke had given her. But it had been so thoroughly remodeled that it looked nothing at all as she remembered it when Tattoo had lived there. It looked deserted and pristine; Leslie let out a quiet groan when she realized the cleaning crew must have been there and gone before anyone could tell them not to touch the place in the wake of Marina's disappearance.

"What's wrong?" Gabriella asked.

"Father's staff has been here and cleaned," Leslie explained. "They're pretty thorough, but it can't hurt to look anyway, just in case. You try the living room and bathroom, and I'll take the bedroom and kitchen."

The two split up, and Leslie took the bedroom first, on the pretext that it would hold fewer clues than the bathroom. It took her only a minute or so to ascertain that the room was as impersonal as a hotel room, with no sign anyone had been sleeping there for the last few weeks. She frowned and went into the bathroom, where she searched much more carefully, checking every drawer, opening every cabinet door, peering into the tub, even overturning the bath mat to see if there was anything underneath it.

The bathroom, though, was as clean as the bedroom, and Leslie sighed to herself and made her way to the kitchen. Gabriella was still in the living room, so Leslie began to search the kitchen herself, going as meticulously as she had in the bathroom. Again, she found nothing; a moment later, as she was trying to figure out what to do next, Gabriella came in from the living room and reported, "Nothing at all. Did you find anything?"

"Nope, the place is as clean as a brand-new house." Leslie stared out the kitchen window, trying to think. "We might have reached a dead end already."

"What makes Mr. Roarke think Marina's disappearance is suspicious?" Gabriella asked. "She could have just gone for a walk and gotten lost."

Leslie studied her. "You knew her pretty well when she was married to Christian, didn't you? He used to e-mail me that you and Magga spent a lot of time with her. Do you think she would've done something like that, without telling anyone?"

Gabriella considered it, thinking back, her eyes losing focus and a fingertip tapping her chin. "Not really," she said after a moment. "She wasn't one for doing a lot at all, really. The three of us were of an age—she was born in between me and Magga—so we'd usually sit around listening to the 80s and 90s songs we grew up on." She suddenly grinned. "Almost every single time, we'd play something that made her cry, and we'd ask what was wrong, and she would say it reminded her of her Giancarlo and how much she missed him and wished she were with him. It got to be so bad that Magga began to keep a list of the songs that triggered that reaction in her, so we could avoid playing them and not have to listen to her wailing and complaining about how terrible life with Uncle Christian was."

Leslie laughed. "So that's all you guys ever did together, was listen to music?"

"Just about so, yes. If Magga or I suggested doing anything else—even sightseeing—she always said no. She didn't like doing anything that involved being outside and walking, unless it was shopping once in a while."

"Okay then...so we can rule her going for a walk. And besides, consider this. She left Lucan behind, and she loves that little boy, from all I've seen since she came here with Father and Rogan. There's no way she'd leave Lucan behind if she had just gone for a walk or even out shopping. I'd suggest asking Lucan if he happened to see anyone come into the cottage, but we'd have to find somebody who speaks Italian." She sighed. "It'd be too convenient to have a guest here who does, other than Marina, of course."

Gabriella sympathized, "I wish I could help you, but I don't know Italian either. Well, if we have nothing else to look for in here, what happens next?"

"I can't see that we'd gain anything by trying elsewhere, because we'd just be wandering at random. Father has a staff meeting scheduled at the theater here in town, in a little over an hour, so if you want, we can always drop in on your uncle and distract him from getting any work done." Leslie grinned as Gabriella broke into laughter, and they left the cottage for the walk into town.

Christian settled back in his chair and watched his wife and niece enter the shop, a little smile on his face. "I should have known you two would be in here to bother me sooner or later," he kidded. "Any progress?"

"Nothing," Leslie said, settling on the work arm of his desk as Gabriella took the chair there. "Some of Father's staff had gotten in and cleaned the cottage from top to bottom, so if there were any clues as to what happened to Marina, they were completely erased. There's a staff meeting in a while, so I'm going to pick some bones with some people there."

"Ah, that's my ferocious wife," Christian said, grinning. "And what of you, Briella, do you feel any different?"

"Not at all," said his niece blankly. "Am I supposed to?"

"I just thought perhaps you'd notice some effect from that dose you took," Christian said. "Perhaps you won't until after you've taken all three." He sat forward then and scowled at her. "You'd better promise that you'll inform someone instantly if you do feel anything, especially if it seems to be adverse."

"Oh, for fate's sake, Uncle Christian, what do you think I am, six years old? Of course I'll tell someone if I don't feel right. I really think you're looking for an excuse to pull me out of this trial. It's not as if the hospital here isn't prepared to counteract a case of thornapple poisoning. Sometimes I think you just want to control everything."

Nothing daunted, Christian retorted, "You know perfectly well how I feel about all this, but it's too late for me to stop you now that the test run has actually begun. You were so eager to be a participant that you wouldn't listen to anyone in regard to the risks, and I felt it only prudent to add a further caveat, just for the sake of safety."

She glared at him before turning to Leslie. "Aunt Leslie, can't you make him stop?"

"Unfortunately, even I don't have that power," Leslie said with a little smile. "You should've heard the verbal drubbing he gave me Sunday morning before you got here. If I were you, I'd take it as a sign that he loves you and all the rest of the family very much, and he'd be devastated if anything should happen to you. I'll admit I'm a little worried myself, but far be it from me to get in the way of people who'd leap at even the longest odds if it means they might have a chance of ridding themselves of amakarna."

"But that's exactly what I don't understand. I know how much Uncle Christian hates amakarna, because of what Grandpappa and my father did to him to make sure they had a steady supply of it. Why wouldn't he—"

Christian broke in, "Leslie's already asked that question, Briella, and I'll tell you what I told her: the cure is untested, untried, brand-new and clearly dangerous to some extent, for some more than others, according to what Rogan said earlier this morning."

Leslie had been watching him, and when he took notice and returned her gaze, she folded her arms over her chest. "Christian, look: Father told me that of all life on earth, only human beings are affected by amakarna. There's not another plant or animal anywhere in the world that it does anything to. So there was no way any preliminary tests could be done on lab rats, or anything else."

Christian stared at her in pure amazement, his lower jaw falling ever so slowly, till the words fully sank in. Then he closed his eyes and shook his head in disgust. "It figures," he muttered. "So there really was no choice." He let loose a sigh and fell back in his chair, staring blankly into space for a moment or two. _"Må sanktarna hålla plass till mej."_

It was a _jordisk_ phrase that Leslie hadn't heard from him for a long time, and she bit her lip, well aware of its significance. Christian had told her when they were first married that it was usually employed only when the speaker had reached the absolute end of his or her proverbial rope. She slid off the desk and came around to the back of his chair, kneading his shoulders in the hope of relaxing him a little. "I'm sorry, my love, but that's the vagaries of the stuff. No exaggeration—it's our only hope, so please try to understand."

He peered wearily at her over his shoulder. "I suppose there's no choice in that either, is there? Of course, that still doesn't mean I have to like it."

"Just consider that if the worst happens," Gabriella said, "then I'll have given my life for a good cause." She grinned.

But rather than cajoling him out of his doldrums, this remark served only to ignite Christian's fury. _"I ödets namn, Gabriella Katarina Susanna, är det allt som du får gyra, att skemta om det?"_ he snapped, so angry that he instinctively used his native language.

She reacted as if he had slapped her. "I thought joking about it might help," she said, but her eyes had filled with tears. Now she stood up. "I'm sorry, Aunt Leslie, but I need to be alone for a while." With that, she ran out.

Christian scowled after her, rising to his own feet, his slight _jordisk_ accent thickening in his hurt rage. "How can she even think to make jokes about something like this? She doesn't think that enough in our family have died because of this?"

"Maybe she just chose to laugh at it instead of give herself an ulcer worrying about it," Leslie suggested carefully. "I think you need to let go of that anger, my love."

For a few seconds he stared at her as if incredulous that she dared challenge the royal wrath; then he wilted into the chair and rested his elbows on his knees, plowing his hands into his hair in a gesture of worn-out despair. "Scylla and Charybdis," he muttered. "You may be right, my Rose...I probably need a good hard run."

She threaded her fingers into his hair and stroked a little, then knelt in front of him and cradled his face between her hands. "I know this is really hard for you," she said softly. "But if you let it get to you this much, you'll have a very long two weeks. Just don't forget, no matter what, I'm here for you."

"That could be the one thing that saves me," he murmured, smiling just the faintest bit, gathering her hands in his. "You'll be my lifeline here, my Rose." They smiled gently at each other; then he released another long sigh and pulled her up as he stood again. "I'll take that run now, I think. My business here is finished in any case." She smiled, and he turned toward his staff, raising his voice enough to be heard. "All right, everyone, I'm leaving for the day. If you need anything, you know where to call. Jonathan, I spoke with my sister-in-law, and she'll be waiting for the September reports from you as soon as you've finished." Jonathan nodded, and Christian reached into a desk drawer and withdrew the black tank and red shorts he kept there when he needed a run in the middle of a workday, for whatever reason. "I'll be back out in a moment," he told Leslie, and she nodded, making small talk with Darius Langford while Christian ducked into the shop's small bathroom to change his clothes. Darius had a serious long-distance relationship going with Kalora Calhoun, whom he had met on the island the previous year when Roarke granted her a fantasy; he told Leslie they had been discussing options for a future together, and he hoped to ask her to marry him the next time they saw each other.

Keeping an eye on the time, Leslie accompanied Christian to the beach and sank into the sand to watch him run himself into exhaustion. Once he had done a couple of lengths up the beach and back, he tended to lose himself in a sort of twilight zone while he ran, so that he didn't really see what was around him; so she was the only one who was surprised to see Gabriella emerge from the trees that split the beach off from the Ring Road out of town. She waved at the queen, who stopped in surprise of her own, then plodded over to join her. "What are you doing here, Aunt Leslie?"

"This is the beach where Christian runs when he needs to," she explained as Gabriella dropped to the sand beside her. She made a gesture as Christian came within sight, his head down, bare feet slapping the saturated sand at the waterline and splashing whenever the waves washed across them. He'd had several laps by now and they could hear his somewhat labored breathing from where they sat.

"He still runs when he's angry?" Gabriella asked, watching Christian wheel around at the end near the spit that split the beach in two and head back the other way. "At least he has a place to do it, here. Once he was so upset and needed it so much, he ran in the castle. It was the day of my father's coronation, actually. He showed up for our rehearsal in ragged clothing and badly in need of a shower. I think Pappa wouldn't let him take time out for it till after he was sure we all knew what we were supposed to do." She paused, staring out to sea. "Or perhaps more correctly, till he had convinced himself that Uncle Christian wouldn't find some way to sabotage the ceremony."

Leslie grinned. "Something tells me Arnulf was very insecure where Christian was concerned." She checked her watch again, then wrapped her arms around her drawn-up knees. "How about you, how do you feel?"

"Well, I had a good walk at least," Gabriella said, her gaze following Christian as he progressed farther down the beach. "I won't give up this trial. It took me less than a day to decide to do this, once I talked with Stina and Magga about it. We're all sick of being stuck with that spice, and I know Magga would gladly have come in my place, but I just felt driven to do this myself. I've told everyone that it's because being a queen shouldn't exempt me from anything dangerous, but maybe I just needed to know firsthand, instead of through my sister. I'm afraid if Daniel knew the real reason I came here, he'd be every bit as angry and upset as Uncle Christian is."

"So only Magga and Anna-Kristina know, then," Leslie said.

Gabriella nodded, all business. "I think I actually made up my mind even before I talked to my sisters about it. So I drew up some instructions, in case something happens while I'm doing this trial. I left a copy in my desk at home, and I have another copy here with me. It's in my suitcase." She turned to Leslie. "If something goes wrong and I...I die, Matti is to be recognized as king, but he can't actually perform any official duties till he's eighteen. Until then, Uncle Carl Johan will act as regent, and he'll be formally invested as such at the same time Matti is crowned. You and Uncle Christian and the triplets must be there, of course—it's part of _jordisk_ law." She grinned a little then and added conspiratorially, "You can tell Uncle Christian not to worry, though—I rewrote coronation protocol so those awful rules of Grandpappa's were abolished." Leslie smiled; then Gabriella let her gaze stray out to sea again. "Nobody knows about any of this except Magga and Stina. Which means it will come as a horrible shock to them all if anything does happen to me. I had a feeling they might blame you or Uncle Christian somehow, so I left them a letter along with my instructions, explaining everything carefully. I forgot to anticipate Uncle Christian's anger, but I had no idea he'd react as violently as he has."

"He referred to Scylla and Charybdis," Leslie remarked, and when Gabriella turned to her in perplexity, she smiled a little, watching Christian returning in their direction on his latest lap. "Most people say 'a rock and a hard place' in English. On the one side, he hates it that you're stuck taking amakarna, with all its risks and disadvantages, not to mention the price he personally has paid because of it. On the other hand, the cure carries a substantial risk as well, and it's enough to really scare him. It's as if there's no winning side either way. The only thing we can do is hope that everything goes smoothly."

Gabriella made a concurring noise, and they fell silent, watching the waves, or Christian when he crossed the sand in front of them. It was nearly time for Leslie to go to her father's meeting when he at last wore down altogether, stumbling to a halt in the softly rolling waves and falling to his knees, chest visibly heaving.

They arose and went to him; he glanced up and managed a smile for Leslie, then a startled glance at Gabriella. But they waited a few more minutes till he had gained enough breath to speak; then Leslie helped him to his feet, and he turned to his niece. "Well, Briella, have you had some time to settle yourself?"

She shrugged. "You can't change my mind, but Aunt Leslie explained how you're feeling, so I guess I understand a little better. She says she has a meeting to go to. Are you going with her?"

"I thought about it," Christian admitted, "although I can't see that my presence there would be anything but extraneous."

"There are showers backstage," Leslie said. "You can clean up in there and join us when you're ready. You might be interested in the bones I have to pick with whoever went in and cleaned up the cottage."

Christian laughed, still a little breathless. "I think I'd like to see that. Well enough, then, lead the way."

Almost an hour later at the meeting, Roarke gave her the floor, and she arose, joining him at the podium. "It may not have occurred to most of you, but the cleaning staff at least should have known about this. Marina LiSciola was staying in Tattoo's old cottage, up till at least last night when she seems to have gone missing. Her three-year-old son was found there this morning asleep, all alone. I've been given to understand that the local police requested that the cottage be left alone till they'd had a chance to look around, but someone disobeyed that edict. So who in here was in the group that cleaned the cottage?"

She and Roarke waited, but all they got was a ringing silence. Heads turned, and there was a general rustling as the staff members eyed one another in the hope of finding out who the guilty parties were; but ultimately, no one owned up to the deed. Roarke and Leslie exchanged glances before he said, "You are all aware that there will be no shame brought down on anyone. If you were part of the staff who cleaned the cottage, and you prefer to come to us in private, either Leslie or I will be at the main house all day." He glanced across the gathering, then nodded. "You may all return to your duties."

As the staff filed out, Christian came up to join them. "I have a feeling," he mused as he watched people leave, "that you'll have no takers on that offer."

"I fear you're right, Christian," Roarke said softly, "for whatever reasons. It does, however, lend further credence to my suspicions that Marina may have been kidnapped."


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § – October 24, 2008

Gabriella seemed nervous when she joined Roarke and the Enstads at the main house for breakfast, and Roarke asked her if she was all right. She looked up from her plate and admitted, "It's very strange, Mr. Roarke. I always take my amakarna dose with breakfast, and this is the first time in all my life I haven't done that." He nodded in understanding, and she turned to Christian with an ironic look. _"Now_ I'm worried."

Christian shook his head and started to laugh softly. "Ah, Briella, I'm afraid you're far too late to back out now. In any case, there's a minor correction here: you didn't take amakarna with yesterday's meals either, so this is really the second time in your life you haven't done so." He winked at her dirty look and met Leslie's grin with one of his own.

"How do you feel so far?" Roarke asked the queen.

"No different from normal," said Gabriella, shrugging one shoulder. "Of course, it's only the first day of the two-week waiting period, so I don't think it makes much sense to ask if I feel any differences."

"It does make sense, actually," Leslie pointed out, "in case of side effects or complications from the cure. Anything out of the ordinary, no matter what it is, should be reported to Rogan or Father or me. If it's us, we'll take you to Rogan and he and the doctor can look into it. But I take it you aren't feeling anything at all just now."

"Exactly so. I guess we'll see what happens," Gabriella murmured and began to eat finally, looking curiously subdued. Christian and Leslie looked at each other, wondering at her sudden loss of confidence, then resumed eating their own breakfast.

At the end of the day there was another meeting at Rogan's greenhouse, just long enough for Rogan and the doctor to check in with all the trial participants and see if they had noticed any effects, either good or bad, from the cure thus far. No one had anything to report, except that, like Gabriella, they had had to consciously remind themselves not to add amakarna to their food at their accustomed times. "Not that that's a bad habit to get into," noted their American test subject, and everyone laughed at that.

The next several days slipped by; there was no sign of Marina, which had made Rogan nervous once he learned what Roarke suspected had happened to her. Then, on Monday morning, three of the test subjects failed to appear for the day's meeting at the greenhouse—the Swiss, the Greek and the American. Except for Gabriella, the trial participants were all staying at the hotel; so the police at least had a place to begin asking questions, although as it turned out, no one had seen anything. Their guests' belongings were all still in their rooms, undisturbed, and none of the rooms had been slept in the previous night, as the beds were all still made up.

"Now I know there's something untoward going on," Rogan told Roarke when he had gotten his report from the Dutchwoman, the Australian man and Gabriella. "First Marina, now fully half my test group? Uncle, I've a feeling you'd better step up the police presence and get a manhunt under way. _Some_body's responsible for this."

"But who?" Gabriella asked, tilting her head.

"I should think it'd be obvious," Christian remarked in disgust. "That damned count."

"Or Giancarlo," Leslie added, glancing at Roarke.

"Why would the count be responsible?" Rogan asked of Christian. "He had no trouble with our being there on Marina's say-so in regard to the black-lightning trade, even if it was for all the wrong reasons."

"Perhaps he realized there'd be a significant loss of income, and his son-in-law would go back to being a career failure, if he allowed the cure trial to go forward," Christian said. "I wouldn't put it past him to go to extreme lengths; he's quite greedy."

"I'm more inclined to believe it's Giancarlo, like Leslie said," Rogan replied, shaking his head. "Giancarlo has at least as much to lose as the count, if not more, because the black-lightning trade is the only thing he's ever made a success of, and according to Marina, he's gone power-mad."

"You forget one thing," Christian volleyed. "As far as I'm aware, the sale of amakarna as a nutritional necessity—as opposed to a recreational drug like black lightning—is the only source of the count's income. Should your cure prove to be a success, Rogan, they both stand to lose everything. Even if Giancarlo is involved, I have no doubt it's the count who's behind the disappearances. He's the one who knew why you were there; so even if Giancarlo acted on his own, it would be because the count told him about this entire experiment." He turned to Roarke. "That could mean that he came back to this island—in which case, you may as well know I've never forgotten the condition I put on allowing him to get away without having Mephistopheles take his soul, some seven years back or thereabouts. If he's here, he broke the rule, and I can still have him sent to hell."

"While you do retain that prerogative," Roarke said with a faint smile of amusement, "you'd do well to remember that as yet we not only have seen no sign of the count, but have no proof that he's here at all or that he is in on whatever plot there may be to sabotage the trial. Don't be so eager to exact revenge, Christian. Our first priority should be the safety and well-being of Marina and the missing test subjects."

Christian cleared his throat and visibly pulled himself back under control. "You're right, Mr. Roarke—my apologies. But if I prove to be right—"

"If you do, we will deal with it then," said Roarke firmly. He addressed the three remaining participants. "Sir, madam and Your Majesty, if at all possible, try to be with someone else whenever you go somewhere; there is usually safety in numbers, which means that you should also do your utmost to try to keep to populated areas as much as possible. If you feel it's warranted, I can request a police escort back and forth to your hotel rooms."

"Unless this person is a magician and can get through a locked hotel-room door, I'm not going to worry about it," the Australian said, shrugging. "But your advice otherwise is good, Mr. Roarke—thanks for that." He gave the Dutchwoman a rueful grin. "I suppose that means our only option for entertainment around here is watching TV."

She smiled back, but there was worry in her eyes. "Is there no place in your bed-and-breakfast?" she asked. "I would feel safer here."

Rogan sighed. "I can check with Julie, but I don't think she has any vacancies. But the hotel is quite secure, and if you decide you want a guard, that'll be no trouble."

They both agreed and departed the greenhouse together, looking a little nervous but determined. Gabriella eyed her aunt and uncle with new apprehension; Rogan shook his head, staring at the floor. Roarke laid a hand on his shoulder for a moment. "I'll see to it that a full police investigation is launched. Your Majesty, I think it best if you are with either Leslie or Christian, or both whenever possible, at all times. I apologize in advance that you may find this somewhat boring, but your safety is paramount."

Gabriella nodded and agreed, "I'll be happy to spend my time in someone else's company. As long as you have some reading material for me, I'll be fine."

"You could spend your time with the triplets," Christian remarked with a grin. "They love being read to. They can read their own names by now, but that's it—Leslie has been trying to teach them the alphabet, but to little avail."

"I'm just not a very good teacher, I guess," Leslie admitted with a grin. "That's okay. They'll learn it in kindergarten, so I'm not too worried. If you want, you can stay at the main house with them, and I can go back to our house and get a supply of books from Karina and Susanna's room." She drew herself up straight suddenly and made a face. "That is, as soon as this latest bout of morning sickness is done with me...Rogan, is there a bathroom in here?"

He grinned with sympathy. "Go into the back room and to the far-left corner, there's a tiny loo there." She flashed him a grateful smile and fled; Rogan, Christian and Roarke chuckled, watching her go, and Gabriella sighed.

"I suppose that's one thing I should be grateful not to have ever experienced," she said with a slightly wistful note to her voice all the same. The men looked at one another, and Christian patted her shoulder, silently amazed at her remark, so unlike her. Had she finally realized just what she had gotten herself into? He'd never seen her this unsure.

§ § § - October 27, 2008

The weekend passed without incident; however, the police investigation into the dis-appearances of Marina and Rogan's three test subjects turned up nothing, not even a clue, so Rogan was forced to go with his three remaining trial participants, wondering all the while if the missing ones were doing as well as these three seemed to be.

Gabriella was still adjusting to not needing a dose of amakarna in the morning; it was a heady thing, she confessed to Christian and Leslie, to not take the stuff and yet have no difficulties from its lack. "I wish I could tell Stina and Magga," she admitted. "Rogan told us yesterday not to give anyone progress reports, no matter how much we could trust them, because of the possibility that side effects may develop later or the whole thing might fail."

"Have they been asking?" Roarke inquired.

"I don't see how they could resist asking," Christian commented with a grin. "They have as much at stake as Briella does."

"Well, they'll just have to wait like the rest of the world," Leslie said. "We'd better get the triplets home. See you Wednesday, Father."

They had been home barely an hour when the phone rang and Leslie answered it, only to find that it was Roarke. "Is the queen with you?" he asked urgently.

"Yes, why?" Leslie queried, a knot of dread tightening in her gut.

"Both the Australian and Dutch test subjects have vanished," said Roarke. "Rogan wished to call a meeting at his greenhouse, but when he tried to contact them, neither of them answered their phones at the hotel. There's no question now—someone is attempting to derail Rogan's test. I suggest you stay close to home at all times."

"Unfortunately, we have food shopping to do," Leslie said, frowning. "But okay, Father, we'll be as careful as we can. Christian won't like this news one bit."

He didn't, either; alarm flared to life in his hazel eyes and he threw a glance down the hall toward the girls' room, where they could hear Gabriella reading to her young cousins again. "Leslie, you know we need to replenish the kitchen cupboards," he protested, keeping his voice low to avoid being overheard. "How can we do that without leaving the house?"

"We don't all have to go, you know. One of us can stay here with Briella and the kids, and the other can do the shopping. I mean, look—it's the test subjects this person is after, not us. We just happen to be observers related to one of the participants."

"Perhaps," Christian muttered, unconvinced. "It occurs to me that if someone is kidnapping Rogan's guinea pigs, then someone released the news somewhere—not necessarily one of those in our group, but one of the others Mr. Roarke contacted who weren't selected for the trial. Imagine it—you want badly to be in the test group, but you're not chosen to take part. If you have a certain mentality, you may want revenge in some way, and you'll deliberately tell someone the secret—or worse, sell it to a tabloid."

"Yeah, that's plausible," Leslie agreed, watching him turn on their internet connection and bring up a browser window. "So you're checking for that, then?"

"Or something that would fit the theory, yes," said Christian, typing the phrase _amakarna cure_ into a search engine, stabbing the Enter key and sitting back to watch what happened. Nothing that matched the phrase came up, but there were a number of hits on "amakarna" alone. One of them caught Christian's eye and he sat up again, leaning forward to examine it more closely, then clicking on it. It popped up in a moment; Leslie pulled up a second chair to sit beside him and get a better look, and they found themselves reading a news article out of Grottaminarda, Italy.

_In what appears to be a case of mutual assault, the LiSciola villa near Grottaminarda was heavily damaged yesterday in a massive fire that gutted the interior and completely destroyed the adjacent greenhouse. Found inside the villa were two of the occupants: Count Antioco LiSciola, a grower of the rare and costly spice amakarna; and his son-in-law, Giancarlo Ognissanti. Both had suffered third-degree burns to over eighty percent of their bodies; they both died on the way to the hospital. Matches, cigarette lighters and several types of accelerants were found around the premises, and the two men were discovered in positions that indicated they had come to blows before being felled by the smoke from the fire. Further investigation is pending; the whereabouts of LiSciola's daughter, Marina, and her son by Ognissanti are unknown._

Christian and Leslie stared at each other. "It wasn't them," Leslie said at last, her voice a little dazed. "You thought it was the count and I thought it was Giancarlo—and we were both wrong."

"So it seems," Christian said softly, his gaze going back to the news article. "Now we have even less to go on than before." He drummed his fingers on the desktop for a moment, then reached for the nearby phone. "I'll tell Mr. Roarke myself; he'll want to know."

He spent several minutes on the phone with Roarke before hanging up and turning to his wife. "He suggests that if we decide to go food shopping, it's best if you and I both go, and take Briella along. He feels the triplets are likely to be overlooked, so they can remain here with Ingrid—but at the same time, if this kidnapper wants to get to Briella badly enough, he'll have no trouble overpowering Ingrid to get to her. So Briella should accompany us into town, he says."

Leslie nodded. "That makes sense. This way I won't have to call Maureen and ask if she wants to come with me so we'd have some extra safety in numbers." Christian chuckled at that, and they made their way downstairs to work up a shopping list.

They didn't tell Gabriella about the latest kidnappings till they were on their way into town; she gaped at her uncle in the rearview mirror, stunned. "So I'm the only test subject remaining now?" she asked finally.

"Yes—so we'll have to work especially hard to keep you protected from whoever is doing this," Christian said with a nod. "Which, I'm afraid, means you'll have to be with one of us at all times. You may find yourself sitting with me in my office, or watching Leslie handle some fantasies next weekend."

Gabriella agreed without fuss; she looked extremely nervous by now, which was more unlike her than ever. Neither Christian nor Leslie missed the way she hovered as close to them as she could get; in fact, sometimes one or the other would turn to reach for something and nearly fall over her. They finally put her to work pushing the cart, but her disquiet got to them too, and they kept glancing at her or each other.

By the time they returned home, they were loaded down with groceries; Ingrid began to put them away, and Christian went out to join Leslie and Gabriella in getting the last few bags. It was then that a tall, thin figure emerged from the woods bordering the far side of the Enstad property and pointed a huge handgun at them all. "Move."

They stared at him in shock; there was no clue as to what he looked like, for he was clad entirely in black, from heavy work boots to a full knit hat with ski mask that covered his entire head except for his eyes. "What in hell—?" Christian began.

Gabriella screamed instantly, "Ingrid, Ingrid,_ ring polisarna stracks!"_

_"Shut your mouth and move it!"_ snapped the gunman, waving the weapon at them. "Next one'a ya that says anything gets shot, and I shoot to kill!" Gabriella ducked against her uncle, who gathered his niece in on one side and his wife on the other. They started out of the driveway; Leslie glanced back once at the gunman, who pointed his weapon at her and made a threatening noise that scared her into facing front again.

The construction site next door to the Enstads' house was quiet and seemed deserted, for some reason; Leslie found herself wondering if there were some holiday they hadn't known about, since there should have been workers there. _Maybe this nutcase dispatched them all too, _she thought, feeling a little hysterical. _I hope Ingrid heard Briella scream... _She found herself measuring her steps to Gabriella's rapid, shallow breathing.

The gunman prodded them the full two miles down their lane till they came out onto the access road into the Enclave; parked some distance uphill from the intersection was a plain white panel truck with no distinguishing marks of any kind. Leslie tried to remember whether they had noticed it on their return from grocery shopping and was a bit chagrined to realize that she, at least, couldn't. She wanted to ask, but the threat of the gun hung over her head and kept her quiet. She did, however, take a careful, if necessarily quick, look over the front of the truck. It had a license plate, which was unusual since there weren't enough cars on Fantasy Island to require such things here. It was heavily smeared with mud, no doubt deliberately; but she made out the plate number and a small letter A at the top, a little right of center, before she, Christian and Gabriella were forced to move to the back of the truck. "Get in," the gunman barked, pointing at the door when they stared at him.

Christian moved first, grabbing the handle and looking a little surprised when the door swung open. He gestured Gabriella in first, then Leslie, and then climbed in after them; the gunman slammed the door behind Christian, and they heard a key turn in a lock. "Great," Leslie muttered.

"Shhh," Gabriella hissed, sounding frantic.

"It's all right, Briella," Christian murmured. "I think if we speak low, he won't hear us even once he gets in the front." They couldn't see anything, for there were no windows and a solid sheet of metal separated them from the front seat.

_"Nej, här kommer vi a' döa," _Gabriella babbled in _jordiska_. Both Christian and Leslie could hear the panic that laced her shaking voice. _"Trodde inte alls att jag skulle döa av a' komma här ock ta min del i bottameddel'nsprovet, men nu—"_

_ "Briella, du får slutta,"_ Christian ordered, low but authoritative, and his niece fell silent; they heard her begin to whimper and knew she was giving in to her terror.

"She spoke so fast I missed most of what she said," Leslie mumbled.

"She's certain we'll die here. She didn't believe she'd die during the trial of the cure, but now she thinks she'll be shot to death." He was silent for a moment; then Leslie felt his hand land on her thigh and pat its way up. "Is that you, my Rose?"

"Uh-huh," she responded, and he kept finding his way in the dark till he located her hand and grasped it. Just then the panel truck's engine roared to life, and a few seconds later they all slid backward on the metal floor as the driver stomped on the accelerator, fetching up hard against the back doors. "Oh crap...I hope this isn't a long trip, because this guy's a lousy driver."

Christian chuckled shortly; she smiled a little, trying to shift aside as he crawled across her to make a stab at calming Gabriella. Then she caught herself as she realized something. "You know, I swear I've heard that voice before." The van swerved abruptly to the right, then sped up; and she figured they must have turned onto the Ring Road.

"Whose voice?" Christian asked, in between attempts to soothe Gabriella in _jordiska_.

"The guy who kidnapped us, of course," she said, as patiently as possible since she realized he was distracted by his distraught niece and by trying to carry on conversations in two different languages. "I know I've heard him somewhere, but I can't place it. Maybe if I think about it, it'll come back to me. Is she going to be all right?"

"I don't know, I can only try," Christian said in a low, hurried monotone before reverting to his native tongue again and crooning gently to Gabriella. Leslie sighed to herself and devoted her attention to figuring out why the gunman's voice had sounded familiar. She knew she could rule out the count and Giancarlo, both from the article she and Christian had seen earlier and from the fact that the gunman had no accent that she could place. He had been rough-spoken and slightly slangy, she thought. She went over and over the few words she'd heard him say to them, but they gave little clue, and she simply couldn't unlock the memory she needed.

The van slowed, bringing her back to the present and Gabriella's frightened weeping. _"Briella, du måste slutta grötta nu,"_ Christian muttered urgently, just as they heard the key in the lock again. Leslie barely had time to pull herself away from the door before it popped open behind her, or she might have tumbled out backwards. Gabriella covered her face with both hands; Leslie and Christian squinted in the sunlight that flooded the interior of the truck, shading their eyes and trying to see outside. But before they had a chance to adjust enough to make out anything, they were blindfolded simultaneously.

"Out, out," barked the same voice that had kidnapped them, and Leslie felt a gun barrel being jabbed against her head as a reinforcement. She knew what that felt like; she still had a memory of being held hostage by a mad Australian more than seventeen years before, in the quest to retrieve the equine descendants of a legendary Australian racehorse known as the Black Phantom. Absurdly, she wondered what had since become of Angus Markham before she was given a hard shove that made her stumble and nearly fall.

"Hey, stop it," she snapped, anger boiling in her without warning. "I'm going."

"Go faster," came the retort, and she gritted her teeth before moving cautiously ahead under the guidance of a pair of hands. She could still hear Gabriella whimpering; it was clear that Christian hadn't gotten very far in calming her down. For the first time, she was tempted to join in.


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § – October 27, 2008

The phone rang at the main house and Roarke picked it up. "Yes?"

"Gran'father?" said a child's uncertain voice. "Is that you?"

"Susanna?" Roarke said, very surprised. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"Ingrid said to call you. She talks only _jordiska_, so I had to do it. Gran'father, somebody took Mommy and Daddy and Briella somewhere. She said Briella told her to call the police, but she doesn't know how. And I don't either." Susanna's voice had grown wobbly and thick with impending tears. "I want Mommy and Daddy back!"

"I know you do, _mi dulce,"_ Roarke soothed. "Tell me, did you see the person take your parents and Gabriella?"

"N-no," his little granddaughter said. He heard her gulp before she spoke again, in a slightly steadier voice. "Ingrid heard screaming and she looked out the window 'cause she heard her name, and she saw a black ghost taking Mommy and Daddy and Briella away."

"A black ghost?" Roarke echoed blankly. "Are you sure?"

At first there was no response; he heard Susanna talking to someone in _jordiska_ before she came back on the line. "Ingrid said it wasn't a ghost, it was a man. But he was all black, even his head. He was far away and she couldn't see him good. I'm scared, Gran'father," Susanna quavered. "I wish we were at your house."

"I'll have someone pick you up and bring you back here," Roarke promised the child, unable to refuse her even though he wasn't sure she and her siblings would be any safer at the main house than they were at home. "Just wait there, all right? I need to call the police right now so they can hurry after the person who took your parents."

"Okay," Susanna agreed, beginning to cry. "Hurry up, Gran'father, please."

"I will," he said, and put through a call to the constabulary in town, apprising them of what Susanna had told him and his suspicion that, like Rogan's test subjects, the trio had been abducted. Then he put through a call to the B&B.

It was answered by Julie. "Oh, hi, uncle, any news?"

"Nothing," Roarke replied. "I need to speak with Rogan, please, quickly."

"He's in the greenhouse," Julie said. "I'll run out and get him." Roarke waited, with uncharacteristic lack of patience that he only barely kept in check, while she did so; it was a full two minutes before she returned, sounding panicky. "Nobody's in the greenhouse, uncle. I called Rogan a dozen times and I checked all through the place, and it's empty!"

Stunned, Roarke let a few seconds go by before he pulled himself together. "Very well, Julie. Whatever you do, don't leave the house, and make sure both Rory and Lucan are in your sight at all times. I'll be sending my grandchildren and their nanny over as well." He hung up without explaining further, sent a driver to get Ingrid and the triplets, and departed the house, driving directly to the police station. He knew what must have happened to Rogan, and now there was no more time to waste.

§ § §

Whoever their kidnapper was, he must have a lot of clout, Leslie considered, for he'd had numerous helpers: she, at least, had been lifted off the ground and carried somewhere by a couple of people. Set back upright at last, she was shoved hard enough that this time she did fall, and a moment later someone landed on top of her, making her cry out in pain.

"I'm sorry," she heard Christian gasp just before something large and metal clanged deafeningly from behind them. There were rustlings, then a curse in _jordiska_. "I still can't see anything. It's as dark in here as it was in that truck. Are you all right, Leslie?"

"I think so," she managed, wincing as she pulled herself into a sitting position. Only then did she remove her blindfold, finding that Christian was right about the darkness.

"Who's that?" a voice asked, and they both stiffened with shock.

"Leslie and Christian Enstad, and Queen Gabriella," Leslie responded, the first to get her wits back. "Who else is here?"

Names came out of the darkness—two of them offered by the same voice—and Leslie counted: all five of the missing cure-trial participants were here, and so was Marina, whose voice sounded weak and listless. "That solves one mystery," Christian murmured, before raising his voice a bit. _"Briella, svar på mej, är du härmed?"_

_ "F-farb-bror C-Christian?"_ came a terrified, trembling voice from close by. _"Vi kommer a' döa snart, det vet jag alldels säkert, ock jag kommer a' bli första..."_

_ "Herregud, Briella, du sluttar med det nu genaste!"_ Christian commanded impatiently, blowing out his breath. "All we need now is for her to panic and infect everyone else," he added, speaking so that only Leslie could hear him. "She's convinced we'll all be killed, and that she'll be the first one they shoot."

"Terrific," mumbled Leslie. "That doesn't do much for my own peace of mind."

Christian stilled, concentrating. "Feel that rocking? We're on some sort of water vessel," he noted. "My guess would be a cargo ship. The floor is metal, and I suspect the walls and ceiling and door are all metal as well. Whoever kidnapped us and all the others seems to have quite the entourage, if we're on such a large vessel. After all, he would have had to control the crew somehow."

"I thought so too," she agreed, "but I still can't figure out who it could be."

"Try not to think so hard," he suggested, a trace of humor in his voice. "It's most likely to come to you when you're not actually puzzling over it. Perhaps it can't hurt to see if there's some form of exit somewhere."

"Other than the way we came in, you mean?" she riposted, which got her a quick chuckle from him. "It might keep us all busy and occupied. Let's see what we can find out."

"Has anyone tried to find some manner of escape?" Christian asked, raising his voice enough to be heard by everyone.

"We looked already, Your Highness," said the voice of the Greek man. "There seems to be only one door, and it's always locked."

"Do they feed you?" Leslie asked.

"Once a day, that's all." That was the American woman. "It's not much, either...just some really tasteless oatmeal. I wonder if this'll affect the trial."

"Have you noticed any differences?" Leslie asked.

"I think there are some emotional problems," the Australian man commented. "Our friend from Switzerland won't speak at all. We've seen his face occasionally when they open the door now and then to check on us or give us food. He looks..."

"Not quite sane," offered the American. "Same with our Dutch friend."

"And Briella," Christian breathed low. "But is that because of the cure, or because of these circumstances? If only we had someone to answer..."

As if he had been heard, the door rattled open and scraped across the metal floor with a screech that was actually painful. The light from outside was dim enough for them to focus; but it didn't last long, for a figure was shoved in and the door pulled shut again as a body thumped to the floor. "Och, an' the divvil take ye an' yours for eternity!" snarled a familiar, and most welcome, Irish brogue.

"Rogan!" Christian and Leslie burst out as one, and Leslie added, "Are you all right?"

"Leslie?" Rogan blurted, sounding shocked. "What in hell are ye doin' here? An' Christian, is that ye as well? Are ye the only ones, then?"

"No, everyone from the trial is here as well, including my niece, and so is Marina," Christian told him. "I don't know where we are or who's taken us."

"Minions of either that count or his son-in-law, I've no doubt," Rogan grumbled, his voice bristling with rage.

"Maybe, maybe not—but neither of them directly," Christian said, and told him about the news article he and Leslie had seen online. "Leslie's certain she's heard the voice of our own kidnapper before, but so far she hasn't been able to place it."

"Aye?" Rogan said quizzically. "How were ye taken?"

Christian and Leslie took turns explaining; the Australian, the American and the Greek added their own stories. They had been bodily removed from the hotel in the dead of night in all cases, but had been blindfolded and carried around from the start. Rogan let out a disgusted grunt. "I was nabbed straight out o'me own greenhouse," he told them. "I was alone in there as usual, an' stupid enough to think I was safe. So..." He paused for a few seconds. "Ye know the voice o'th'divvil who took ye, Leslie?"

"Yes, I know I've heard it before," she said. "I've been racking my brain, but I just can't figure it out, and it's driving me crazy."

"Ach, my Rose, not you too," said Christian with black humor.

Leslie sighed, faintly amused. "I guess it'll come to me eventually, but it can't happen soon enough for me. Marina?" She raised her voice. "Are you okay?" There was no response, and Leslie frowned. "Marina?"

Instead of a reply, the door opened again, and those who were mentally alert all sat up straight, waiting. "Well, I guess the gang's all here," remarked a jovial voice—the same one that had kidnapped Christian, Leslie and Gabriella. "Looks like it's time for me to do some cullin' out. It's about time. I tell ya, I'm gonna really enjoy this."

Gabriella released a wail and shrieked in _jordiska, "Det sade jag, jag blir första! Så sade jag, så sade jag..."_

_"Gabriella Katarina Susanna, håll dej tysta!"_ Christian shouted, at the same moment someone lurched into the light with both fists high in the air, screaming incoherently. Nobody else had time to move before the man in the doorway raised his enormous gun and fired, eliciting screams and shouts as the advancing figure jerked back and crashed to the floor, motionless. Gabriella, apparently too far gone now to heed anything she heard, had begun screaming in a piercing soprano that no one could quell.

"Shut her up!" roared the man in the doorway. "Two seconds or she's next!"

Christian, cursing in _jordiska_ and with a look of panic such as Leslie had never seen on him, threw himself at Gabriella and clapped a hand over her mouth, dragging her hard against him and hissing at her in frenetic _jordiska_. She was still screaming behind his hand, and he had to raise his voice to make himself heard, but it seemed to be to no avail. Their captor lifted his gun and aimed.

"I told ya to shut her up, didn't I? I told ya to, but that little broad ain't listenin'," he growled, cocking the hammer.

It hit Leslie at that exact moment. "Hotaia Sese!" she shouted.

All the noise came to an instant stop, and everyone whipped around to stare at her, except for Gabriella, whimpering energetically but still in her own world, and those others who seemed out of it. Even their captor was frozen with astonishment. "Huh?"

"You're Hotaia Sese," Leslie said, trying to control the shaking in her voice. She realized she might have placed him sooner if he'd still been the too-well-fed man she now remembered; he must have lost weight in prison. "You were on the island three years ago trying to steal a diamond so you could pay the producer of your supply of black lightning. What are you doing here now? You're supposed to be in prison!"

"Well, as you can see, I ain't," Sese remarked, sounding proud of himself. He removed the head-concealing knit ski mask. "I got out. Well, I guess you could say I escaped...I had some friends and called in some favors." He smirked. "Just got the word from my buddies that the guy who caused all this trouble's here to join his pals, so I thought I'd give myself the pleasure of doin' him in first. Didn't quite manage that, since that moron over there decided to charge me." He eyed the body on the floor, which Leslie could now see was that of the Swiss man. "Bad idea."

"What in the world is the purpose o' kidnappin' all these people, if ye wanted me in particular?" demanded Rogan. Sese's head cranked around and he eyed Rogan, who nodded. "I'm the one ye want, Sese. So if ye're lookin' to punish me, what's the point o' takin' all these other innocents?"

"They're all part'a the trial, ain't they?" Sese said, shrugging.

"Not Christian an' Leslie," Rogan fired at him. "They've nothin' to do with it."

"Don't matter. There ain't no way I'm gonna shoot ya 'n' then let _them_ all go. They'd be out there tellin' the world there's a cure for black-lightnin' addiction, and we can't have that. See, it's my only source of income, and it's a damn good one, so you can bet I ain't givin' it up. You're a threat to my livelihood, Callaghan, an' I gotta get rid o'ya so's nobody else can come up with any cures."

"No, you won't, you won't, you won't!" screamed another voice, and from a far corner staggered Marina LiSciola, looking like a specter in tattered clothing and stringy hair, her face a ghoulish mask. "I thought of this first! I'm the one responsible!"

"Oh yeah? Well, in that case..." Sese shot her before anyone had time to realize what he was doing, and Marina went down in a crumpled heap.

Rogan jerked hard; Leslie gasped; more cries went up—and Gabriella lost whatever was left of her fading sanity. There was nothing Christian could do: she turned into a screaming, flailing dervish, fighting her way so violently from his desperate embrace that he lost his balance and collapsed to the floor in Leslie's direction. Sese raised the gun and cocked the hammer again, only to be tackled around the ankles by the American woman, who had been crouching with several others beside the Swiss man. Sese let out an enraged roar, and a shot exploded from the gun, going wild and ricocheting around the metal hold, to more panicked screams. Christian managed to push himself to his hands and knees and tried to lunge for his niece, but she was already well out of his reach. Leslie, terrified for him now that she had seen how trigger-happy Sese was, grabbed her husband's foot, trying to prevent him from moving any farther away.

Rogan, too, made a wild grab for Gabriella, but she somehow saw him coming and danced nimbly out of his reach. _"La'mej gåååååååååååååå!"_ she howled, her voice rising up the scale till it might have shattered glass, had there been any nearby. She lurched toward the door, which had begun to fill with men of whom she appeared to be heedless. Sese kicked the American woman viciously away from him, swung the gun around and fired at Gabriella. The bullet slammed into her chest; her screaming ceased instantly and a shocked look bloomed on her face before her eyes slid closed and she fell, almost in slow motion.

Somewhere behind all the screaming and shouting, Leslie heard more shots, but she couldn't take her eyes off Gabriella; she wasn't even aware she was still holding Christian's foot till he kicked free and hurled himself at the young queen's still form, shouting unintelli-gibly. Her head began to swim, and for some reason her throat started to hurt; she blinked to clear her vision, which had begun to grow fuzzy, and had just enough time to see Rogan climb to his feet and attack Sese from behind before she lost awareness altogether.


	6. Chapter 6

§ § § – October 27, 2008

She could hear voices, but they were at some great distance, and she couldn't make out a word any of them was saying. She tried to ask a question, but there was a sharp pain in her throat, and all that emerged was a froggy croak. At that point one voice became clear and distinct. "She's coming around," it said.

_"Aj, ödarna i sina slott," _moaned a ravaged-sounding male voice, and she finally got her eyes open to find herself being stared at by a ring of faces. She had to blink rapidly to get them in focus, and when she did, she zeroed in on Christian. He looked torn apart; she stared blankly at him for five seconds before her memory kicked in and she gasped, bolting upright and looking wildly around while a few hands reached for her and held her in place.

"What..." she tried again and got only the croak.

"Leslie, my child, it's all right," Roarke said softly, sitting down to look fully into her face. "You're safe."

"But...but..." She tried to clear her throat, but that hurt even worse, far much more so than merely attempting to speak. In the end she was reduced to whispering. "What happened? I need to know."

"It was a bloodbath, lass," Rogan said, voice heavy with sorrow, loosening his grip on her. "Four dead and two badly injured before uncle and his constables found us and stopped the carnage." He sighed heavily. "We'll none of us be the same again, I think."

Leslie's mouth dropped open in horror. "Four dead?" she whispered hoarsely, dimly aware that Roarke was signaling at someone. "Tell me..."

Rogan winced. "Well, Sese is dead at least," he muttered, but refused to say another word, despite the urgent stare she trained on him.

"Rogan was a hero," Julie said, sniffling and wiping her eyes. "That crook might have killed everybody if he hadn't gotten up and leaped on him from behind."

"Julie me sweet, enough," Rogan said dully and sighed. "I had to stop it somehow. So I took him down. I think his gun went off somehow an' killed him. He's dead anyway."

Leslie searched the small crowd: there were Rogan and Roarke, three members of the island police force, and a red-faced and red-eyed Julie. "Christian," she began, and again winced. "Where's..."

A nurse appeared and handed her a small cup filled with juice; she drank greedily in spite of Roarke's admonition to sip, till she had drained it. It only marginally improved her voice, though. "Why can't I talk?"

"Ye were screamin' like a banshee, lassie," Rogan told her. "Ye didn't know?"

She hadn't, and was vaguely surprised at this, but her mind refused to budge from its primary focus. "Where's Christian?" she insisted.

The nurse started to speak, and the constables looked uneasily at one another; but Roarke overrode them all. "Bring him here. He needs her," he said quietly.

Leslie registered the words, but she tried her utmost to deny the pit of dread that had opened up in her stomach. The nurse and one of the policemen emerged into her field of vision with Christian, who looked ravaged and groggy all at once. He half staggered in their grip and more or less fell onto the bed, where he struggled to focus on her. "My Rose," he whispered, reaching for her, grasping her arm. "She's gone."

A whimper escaped Leslie's mouth and she felt her lips and eyelids stretching wide with horrified denial, as if her whole face were expanding. "Briella?"

"When will it stop?" he keened, his eyes losing focus. "When will it stop? _När sluttar det hela?"_ He fell slowly forward till his head hit her shoulder, and then his body began to quake. Leslie, filled with shock, stared at Roarke.

"One of the four deceased was Gabriella," he confirmed, his own voice hoarse now with shared sorrow. "I'm told her death was instantaneous..."

"Oh, no, no, no, no..." She couldn't stop saying the word, but even as she mindlessly repeated herself, she wrapped her arms tightly around Christian and buried her face in his hair, her eyes closing, leaking copious tears.

Roarke looked on, closing his own eyes and taking a long moment to gather his composure. When he looked up, everyone flinched; those who had been there at the time recognized the look: the same one he'd had right after Helena Marsh had died. "We had better leave them alone for now," he murmured, rising slowly.

The room emptied, mostly in silence, except for the sound of Julie crying softly. It took a long time for either Leslie or Christian to realize they were the only ones in the room; their grief had enshrouded them both, and they had no control over it while the initial shock held them in thrall. It was more than half an hour before Christian lifted his head from her shoulder and pushed a violently shaking hand through his hair; Leslie had lost her voice again from sobbing.

"I don't...don't know what will happen next," Christian managed, his voice breaking on every word. "What the repercussions will be...who will be held to blame because of the reason for Briella's death. There will be investigations and questions..."

"It's my fault," Leslie said dully, in her soundless whisper. He stopped in the midst of his sentence and stared at her. "It's my fault. I caused her death."

He sat up straight and grasped her arms. "No, Leslie, my darling, no. You did no such thing. You told them it wouldn't be a good idea to volunteer. You told them. I saw the message. You are _not_ to blame." He shook her slightly till she returned his gaze; the emptiness in her eyes frightened him and made his voice urgent. "Don't you dare, Leslie Enstad, don't you _dare_ do what I did when Arnulf died and blame yourself!"

The memory of Christian's self-loathing in the wake of Arnulf's death made her blink, but she shook her head. "Christian, don't you see, I'm still a jinx," she croaked.

"No," he barked, cradling her face with hands whose gentleness belied his angry desperation. "No, it _wasn't you!_ Leslie, my darling, listen to me, for the love of fate. If anyone is to blame, it's Hotaia Sese. I heard the story, even though they had to sedate me slightly to keep me from going mad in my grief. Sese's sister—the one who was once Miss Samoa—died three months ago, of black-lightning abuse. She had been taking the drug for some five years and her body finally gave out. That robbed him of a customer; she was so hopelessly hooked that she had sold everything she had—including her body, in the end—to get the drug, and he was her supplier. Then he was told about the cure, something like third- or fourth-hand, via sources that ultimately went back to the Australian man; I think the test subject himself may have unknowingly told the wrong person. Anyhow, that was enough for Sese to engineer a prison breakout and gather a gang of friends he had in the Samoan crime world. He promised them they would all be rich if they just did as he bid them. He persuaded enough of them that they hijacked the cargo ship where we were held prisoner, took the crew hostage and threatened to murder them unless they did as he told them. That was how they were able to dock here on Fantasy Island and escape even Mr. Roarke's suspicions. Under Sese's direction, they claimed to have shipments of goods to sell and deliveries to residents of various islands in this area, so they were given permission to dock here until their fictional business was complete."

"So...so he did have help," Leslie breathed, still dazed, but listening.

He noticed her concentration and nodded, actually managing a tiny encouraging smile for her. "Yes, exactly, my Rose. Most of them were well-seasoned criminals and knew exactly what to do in order to kidnap the participants in Rogan's experiment without leaving clues behind. That was why Tattoo's cottage was so clean after Marina disappeared, you see: they scoured it. But Sese himself wasn't above getting involved, and his sloppiness ultimately was his undoing. He went so far as to come after us, using a delivery truck aboard the ship. The license plates were Samoan—that explains the little A you saw at the top of the front plate. He parked where we wouldn't notice the truck, then made his way to the woods near our property and waited until we were all outside and vulnerable. It was partly planning, partly luck—the construction crew next door was working in the basement and never noticed anything. A few said they had heard Briella's scream, but they thought it was the children playing." His voice broke again and he squeezed his eyes shut for a second or two before pulling in a deep breath. "It's Sese's fault, my Rose, and no one else's. Rogan wished only to help rid the world of that accursed spice. You and Mr. Roarke were right in telling Stina, Briella and Magga—they did have the same right to know about it as anyone else who needed to take the spice. You told them not to volunteer, but you couldn't control their decisions in the end. Arnulf's daughters are as stubborn as all the rest of us, and in that they are true Enstads. Nothing would have stopped Briella, and I knew that myself, deep inside, even as I tried to do it."

Leslie's eyes welled up and spilled over again. "I wish we could understand what happened to her in the end..."

"I know, my darling, I know. I wish that as well. Perhaps it was a side effect of the cure—after all, it had to include thornapple, which causes hallucinations. It so happens that the Dutch and Swiss participants suffered them as well." Christian shifted his hands slightly so that he caught a tear with each thumb and stroked the moisture away. "My Leslie Rose, you've made me understand something, in my attempt to make _you_ understand. To keep you from losing yourself in the same kind of self-blame I underwent after Arnulf died, I had to make myself think it through as I was explaining it to you." He sighed. "Yes, there will be investigations, but what I've just told you should go a very long way toward answering official inquiries. Briella was too stubborn and determined to let this stop her, and all those damned macabre jokes she made about dying for a good cause..." His emotion overcame him and his head fell forward as he struggled to control a new freshet of grief.

Leslie, still crying herself, pulled him close, and they sat there hugging each other hard for a long time after that. She found herself wondering what the _jordiska_ people would think, how they would react, when the whole story became public, and clung to Christian still more tightly, fear flickering to life deep inside her.

* * *

><p><em>It's still not over yet...and there's work and recovery in store for everyone. Keep an eye out for the next installment!<em>


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